


UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS IMMOVABLE OBJECT

by AgnesClementine



Category: Supernatural, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, I Don't Even Know, It Was A Dream, M/M, Mick and Len, can cheat, like pros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 18:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: After finishing a case in Central City, the Winchesters get their asses handed to them by a pair of kids.





	UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS IMMOVABLE OBJECT

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a dream I had and to get the idea out of my head I wrote this.
> 
> Warning: I can't play pool or poker, so please just bear with me here.
> 
> Also, I don't know why Len and Mick are younger than the Winchesters, but it just kind of fit? Len's about 21 and Mick is 23 if anyone's curious.
> 
> Well, comment and enjoy this weirdness. I guess...

Central City had a bit of a monster problem. A vampire snacking on some folks up north, where all rich people had huge houses and five cars they didn’t need in their garages. Dean really can’t stand rich snobs with sticks up their asses, but the vamp is dealt with and they are having a few celebratory drinks in the east side.

Now, they had been informed by the officers working on vamp case that east side is no good. _Stay clear from the east side of the city. That’s where the scum lives_.

It’s… overly exaggerated. At least as Dean looks around the bar; everything is clean and people are mostly nice, hanging in groups around tables or chatting with the bartender at the bar. Sure, some of them have not so friendly faces, but Dean wouldn’t call them scum. He’s seen scum and these are just people.

“More luck next time, fella.” He says, collecting his winnings and leaning lightly on his pool stick. The guy he just mopped the floor with retreats to his group of friends with slumped shoulders.

They don’t need the money so much now that they live in the Bunker, but it’s still a fun pastime. Especially when Dean’s winning. And despite Sam’s objections, Dean catches him further away, playing cards with some kid that is probably too young to be here. _This is gonna be an awesome night._

“You up for another round?”                                                        

He turns to look at the guy that approached him while he was looking at Sam. The guy- kid, really, probably around 22 or 23- is standing near the pool table, hands in his jeans’ pockets.

He shrugs, “You any good?”

Kid grins, “Probably better than you.”

And, oh, that just won’t do.

“We’ll see about that.” He counters and tosses him another stick.

Dean bets his winnings- because he can see from the way the kid is holding the stick he’s not so good at this- and the kid pulls two Benjamins out of his wallet. Dean would think he’s one of those rich brats if it weren’t for the lack of branded clothes. Besides, he’s not carrying himself like he’s almighty, the way other kids Dean encountered on the case did.

Dean wins the first round, feeling only slightly bad as it dawns to the kid he’s not getting his money back with every shot Dean delivers. He’s watching Dean quietly, eyes following every ball that sinks in a hole.

When the white ball’s the only one left on the table, Dean throws a grin at the kid. “Sorry about your allowance money, kid.”

Kid snorts, amused, Dean notes. “Again.”

At Dean’s surprised look, he raises one eyebrow, “What? I don’t get a chance to win my gas money back?” He smirks then, “Or you don’t think you can beat me again?”

Dean laughs, “Alright, don’t tell me I didn’t give you an out.”

They play again and Dean lets the kid go first, gives him a chance though he doubts the kid will win.

The first ball sinks in.

And second.

And third.

The kid is grinning to himself, this little self- satisfied smile that Dean somehow doubts is often on his face. He’s also wearing a jacket over his Henley, although it’s pretty warm in here, which is a bit strange.

The fourth goes in, too.

Dean is… starting to doubt. _No way. This kid is not that good and he can’t win on pure luck_.

“Getting scared, grandpa?”

Dean narrows his eyes at him. _That little shit_.

“No. And I’m not your grandpa.”

Kid shrugs, sends another ball in a hole. “You’re old. It’s all the same.”

Dean doesn’t have a chance to respond- because the kid hits one ball that bounces off another and then that one bounces off another two and soon the table is clear. Dean loses. He looks at the deserted table, not comprehending what he sees.

Kid flashes him a grin, all teeth, “Would you look at that, turns out I really am better than you.”

Then he scoops up money- Dean’s _hard-won_ money- and saunters off with a wave over his shoulder. Dean stares after him, then back at the table and wonders what the hell just happened. He can’t remember the last time he lost in the pool.

He goes back to watching Sam. At least one of them is earning some money tonight. Dean hopes he bet money.

The kid- he’s got a buzz cut, Dean notices now- is watching his cards calmly, brows scrunching up when Sam reveals his cards and, _yes, Sam won_ \- though, uh, as soon as the thought crosses Dean’s mind, the buzz cut kid smirks.

He sets his cards on the table with a flourish and Sam’s spine goes rigid before he slumps in his seat. Dean watches in disbelief as the kid takes the money from the table, rising to his feet with that small smirk still on his face and slip out the door in similar fashion Dean’s opponent had.

He quickly slides in kid’s seat across from Sam. “What the hell?”

“I don’t know.” Sam says numbly, wrapping his head around the turn of events. “I thought I had him and then he-“ he cuts off, gesturing at the cards in front of Dean. Full house.

“What about you?” His brother asks. Dean shakes his head.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Wait. You’re saying someone beat _you_ at _the pool_?”

“He just swiped the table clean. You wouldn’t fucking believe his luck.” Dean tells him.

They drink another beer each, before getting out of their miffed state and out of the bar. Truth be told, Dean is still trying to figure out how the hell he managed to lose a game to _a kid_ , when he catches a movement in the corner of his eye. In the semi-darkness, there are two bodies leaned against the side of a car, counting money and Dean stops dead in his tracks.

“Son of a bitch.” He curses quietly, Sam coming to a stop next to him.

“What?”

Dean juts his chin towards the kids counting _their_ money. They’re talking- well, the younger one with a buzz cut is doing the most of it- and nudging each other with shoulders when they laugh.

He opens his mouth to speak, in disbelief once again tonight, as he turns to look at Sam. “Did we- did we get played by a pair of _kids_?”

Sam doesn’t look any more pleased than Dean. “I guess.”

Dean throws another look at the kids. They stopped counting money and are now making out, pressed against the car, so Dean leaves them to it.

He follows Sam to Impala, turns Blue Oyster Cult on loudest, so he can nurse his hurt dignity in peace.


End file.
